"Abel was able," so Vivian said
Her shoulders flung forward, her lips in a purse
She talks like the beauty that she never was
Of the fabulous wild nights that she never has
In a certain light he looked like Elvis
In a certain way he feels like Jesus
Everyone dreams of him just as they can
But he's only the humble delivery man
Geraldine blushes and brushes away
The cigarette ashes that Vivian scatters
Stares out of the window at the things that she says
While the gossip within her competes with the widow
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